I don't know who I am, I don't know who I'll be
Remi wrinkles his nose, expression flickering somewhere between amusement and lingering unease. "I saw Silence of the Lambs way too young," he murmurs, flashing Ronin a tight smile over one shoulder. "The idea of stumbling around in the dark while something else sees you perfectly? Yeah, no thank you. That gave me nightmares for years."
He turns back to the well, gaze trailing along the base where runes have been crudely carved into the stone. Ronin’s flashlight casts them in sharp relief, but Remi doesn’t linger there. Instead, he arches a brow at the comment about water. "It isn't to go in the well," he says under his breath, tone clipped, as if the very suggestion annoyed him. As if Ronin had missed something obvious.
As Ronin finishes his segment and turns back to Remi, the medium is already crouched beside the well, its heavy cover inexplicably gone. The slab, which had been sealed tight just moments before, now rests neatly off to the side, despite there being no sound of movement, no creaking or scraping of stone. No one else had come near it.
Remi doesn’t acknowledge the movement or whether or not he was the one to somehow shifted it himself. Instead, he’s got one hand braced on the lip of the well and the other carefully dipping just past the edge, trailing a fingertip along the inner stone. When he straightens and looks back, the beam of Ronin’s flashlight flares off his irises, making his sea-green eyes flash pale and ghostlight white for a breathless second. "Look," he says simply, holding up his hand. There’s blood on his finger—thick and dark, with a tacky sheen that hasn’t yet dried.
He turns back to the well, gaze trailing along the base where runes have been crudely carved into the stone. Ronin’s flashlight casts them in sharp relief, but Remi doesn’t linger there. Instead, he arches a brow at the comment about water. "It isn't to go in the well," he says under his breath, tone clipped, as if the very suggestion annoyed him. As if Ronin had missed something obvious.
As Ronin finishes his segment and turns back to Remi, the medium is already crouched beside the well, its heavy cover inexplicably gone. The slab, which had been sealed tight just moments before, now rests neatly off to the side, despite there being no sound of movement, no creaking or scraping of stone. No one else had come near it.
Remi doesn’t acknowledge the movement or whether or not he was the one to somehow shifted it himself. Instead, he’s got one hand braced on the lip of the well and the other carefully dipping just past the edge, trailing a fingertip along the inner stone. When he straightens and looks back, the beam of Ronin’s flashlight flares off his irises, making his sea-green eyes flash pale and ghostlight white for a breathless second. "Look," he says simply, holding up his hand. There’s blood on his finger—thick and dark, with a tacky sheen that hasn’t yet dried.
but there's a light in the attic and I swear it's calling me
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
